Her Eyes
by sanctum-c
Summary: Rude reflects on Tifa's eyes and what they have seen.


If someone ever wanted to know if Rude cared for them, all they needed to do was watch what he did with his sunglasses. If he kept them on: they were anything from enemy to acquaintance to ally. If he took them off: best friend, soul-mate or lover. Oh sure, there were times he wound up not wearing his eye-wear due to accidents or damage, but he never chose to take them off on those occasions. If he cared for someone, Rude would take his sunglasses off voluntarily. And the list of people he would do that for was extremely short.

His fellow Turks were on that list, but that hadn't happened until he sat drinking with them as the world ran out of time. Even with Meteor hanging over their heads he'd felt almost shy at first; it was a big step to finally remove the sunglasses and look at his companions unfiltered. Reno naturally mocked him for it, though no more than their typical joking around and they soon got right back to drinking. The Turks would either go out in style or wake up with one hell of a hangover they decided. He couldn't help but grimace as he remembered the sunlight dragging them back from alcoholic slumber the next morning - and how they'd all wound up wishing that the world really had ended.

And naturally he removed his sunglasses for Tifa Lockhart. To have something between his eyes and hers was intolerable when he got as close to her as he did. Rude couldn't help but wonder what Tifa's eyes had seen over the years. Some of it he knew; the Turks records were, after-all, thorough and detailed. Certain things however, she'd had to tell him herself - when she'd been ready. He never pushed for answers, bit back his curiosity and let her relate memories as she wished. Those most intimate and deeply held secrets she'd tell him while looking straight into his naked eyes.

Rude loved her eyes, always trying, however foolish it was, to gain just a glimpse of what they'd seen. Painful moments, joyful moments, moments of meeting and parting. Those eyes had seen the confused Cloud Strife lying sick in a station in Midgar, later glimpsing both the supposed dead remnants of Jenova and the definitively dead body of President Shinra. She'd seen Sephiroth first hand on a staggering number of occasions and lived to tell the tale; the scar across her chest denoted the one time she almost hadn't made it. Rude always paid special attention to it in bed, kissing the length of the white line as if trying to erase it from her skin. She smiled when he did that, inducing that rush of gratitude that he could be this intimate with her.

Her red eyes had watched in horror as Aeris Gainsborough was slain before she or any of her friends could react, unable to do a damn thing to help her. She'd seen the lost city of the Ancients, looked upon the North Crater as it had been before Sephiroth summoned Meteor; a vast wound that had slowly healed, pulsing with the heartbeat of the world. She'd seen the Planet from up in space having wound up launched along with a shard of giant Materia, Shera, Strife and Highwind as Avalanche frantically halted Shinra's plans, seeking out an effective solution to Meteor rather than futilely trying to blow it out of the sky. She'd watched all her friends walk away the night before they went to confront Sephiroth, hoping they'd come back but prepared to carry on without them. She'd seen them return and stand together against the man who aspired to god-hood. She'd seen the deep recesses of the Planet where Sephiroth lay in wait for the end of the world. She'd seen what the general had become.

Later she'd tried and failed to stop Strife pulling away from her in the aftermath, her potential lover never fully accepting that everything was now over and that they had to rebuild, had to start anew. The past was past, they had to look to the future. She had always aspired to be the optimist, even when her convictions took a hit due to unfortunate circumstance. Strife never quite saw things like that. He never was able to move on, always worrying too much about how many sides to him there really were, worried about his actions before and after Hojo had done that number on him. He was a warrior through and through; he never wanted to lay down his sword. Trouble was, the world didn't need warriors like that anymore. It needed helpers, custodians and assistants. Cloud never quite got it.

Tifa did. She worked hard, building, rebuilding, organising, helping. And eventually red eyes met sunglasses. Far too late for a good first impression after previous encounters, but fortunately time enough for a fresh start. He'd been thrilled when the task of making contact with her after Meteorfall had fallen to him. He'd given up any hope of being with her long before and so told himself she'd never think of him as anything beyond an acquaintance. At least that was a step up from recurring nuisance.

Still, he hadn't quite been prepared to see her red eyes and strangest of all, a warm smile when he met her once more. Not that she trusted him, not at first anyway, but she was prepared to let old grudges go for the most part. She was happy to just see one more survivor. That counted double when it was someone she knew. Trust would take time, and who could blame her? He hadn't seen her since the end of everything was bearing down upon them, when the Turks had agreed to live and let live. Fighting in the tunnels that threaded the upper plates of Midgar had been pointless and they all knew it. Nods of recognition, professional courtesy was all that passed between them in that frantic moment when they made their vague truce. Tifa and company had a shot at saving the world. The Turks had been effectively orphaned hours before.

Tifa was never sure about Reno when her growing friendship with Rude brought her into proximity with him; she never could quite overlook his hand in the destruction of Sector Seven. That was at least until she got to know him a little more and found out just how torn up the order had made the red-head afterwards, how he still had nightmares years later. Time had moved on, old relationships severed, new ones formed. Reeve was in charge now and the Turks didn't do quite so much finger breaking or worse as they might have once. Not that it wasn't still tough in the post-Mako world, not that there weren't times for violence, but now there was an increased need to strive together.

Rude still got into fights on a regular basis though; he sparred with Tifa every-day to maintain both their skills. They each taught the other new moves, each picking up slight differences in styles from how they'd been taught. Reno would roll his eyes whenever he saw Rude after Tifa had connected a blow in a slightly stronger swing then intended, but Rude would smirk and shrug it off. A love-tap he would insist as Reno caught a glimpse of the bruise forming over his eye.

The absolute favourite memory was when he saw those wine-coloured eyes clearly for the first time. Tifa had slowly entered his personal space, intimately close to him, closer than he'd ever hoped she'd come. With a smile and slightly nervous fingers she gently lifted the black frames from his face, looking directly into his eyes at last. His vision filled with red irises and a dazzling smile, before soft lips touched his own and they never wanted to part again.


End file.
